


ugly/beautiful

by william-bylers (roriks)



Series: stay a little longer (with me) [1]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Eating Disorders, M/M, Panic Attacks, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, hahha this is a happy fic :) i swear :)), if i need to add/change any tags pls let me know!!, jonathan is v brief sorry, non specific mental disorders, several of these things are kinda vague though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-18
Updated: 2017-11-18
Packaged: 2019-02-03 17:08:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12752571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roriks/pseuds/william-bylers
Summary: It’s not that Mike thinks he’s ugly. He knows he doesn’t have any of the usual qualities that someone considered “ugly” has. But, at the same time, he knows he isn’t amazing looking, either.





	ugly/beautiful

**Author's Note:**

> this work is also available on [tumblr](https://william-bylers.tumblr.com/post/167607981416/uglybeautiful-byler) ;3c

It’s not that Mike thinks he’s ugly. He knows he doesn’t have any of the usual qualities that someone considered “ugly” has. But, at the same time, he knows he isn’t amazing looking, either.

His hair is long – too long, really – but he doesn’t want to waste his time getting a haircut when he could be planning the next campaign instead. He had never liked his hair; it was an ugly shade of brown in some lighting, pitch black in others, and he constantly wishes he had a nicer, more consistent shade of brown, like Dustin or Nancy’s. Sometimes he had curls sprouting everywhere, and sometimes he had to push aside straight strands of hair falling into his eyes. It was like his body couldn’t choose, brown or black, curly or straight. And god, he  _hates_  it.

Mike likes control. He likes to plan out every last detail in every interaction he had, arranging his action figures in a way that made sense – grouped all the Star Wars figures together, all the dinosaurs in a circle apart from them. Just the fact that he has so little sway over how he looks makes him itch. He wishes his body would just choose a side so he wouldn’t feel disgusting every time someone mentions his hair. (It doesn’t help that it’s a prime target for bullying, getting him called gay more times than he can count. He always has to shove away thoughts of Will’s soft eyes and pretty face so that he doesn’t get himself into more trouble.)

He knows his face isn’t a pleasure to look at, either. When he looks at his face, he can’t see the supposed kind eyes and friendly expression his mom says he has. He sees someone uncomfortable in his own skin, eyes sad and mouth twisted into a grimace when he tries to fake a smile, and he wonders if he actually fools anyone when he says he’s fine. His eyes are a dull brown, swimming with emotions he can’t control, and he can’t seem to school his face into a semi-neutral expression no matter how hard he tries. Yet another thing he can’t control, he notes. He remembers asking Santa for different eyes for the Christmas of 1979. He was eight years old and he asked for bright blue eyes to replace his murky brown ones for his Christmas present. Obviously, he didn’t get what he wanted, considering that’s kind of impossible.

Freckles splatter his cheeks like paint flecks, and he frowns at them, wondering why he always seemed to pull the short straw in the pool of genetics. None of his family have freckles. Every now and then, he gets the urge to borrow (steal) Nancy’s make up and fumble his way into covering them up, but he knows he’d have to wash it off at the end of the day and they’d be back, mocking him in a way only his own face can. The freckles stand out painfully against his pale skin, and he wishes he could get tan so he wouldn’t have to see them anymore, but he burns easily in the sunlight. The world seems to be against him, sometimes. He hates the way his face looks almost stark white when his hair darkens with the world around it, and he hates the fact that he looks like a ghost in that lighting. (He pushes aside the thought that that’s most accurate description he’s heard in a long time.)

His limbs are long and he’s overall gangly. Lucas likes to poke fun by telling him to  _eat up, what did you have today, birdseed?_  Mike’d never tell, but the teasing always makes him shift in his seat, arms reaching up to cross over his stomach in a useless attempt to hide himself. He had hit a growth spurt a few months after his 14th birthday, and no matter what he does now, he looks skinnier than normal. He never told anyone, but one weekend when his friends were too busy to hang out, he had snuck into the kitchen and stole as much food as he could carry, making sure his father was snoring on the La-Z-Boy before running as quick as he dared to his room and fumbling with his lock until it turned. He had sat himself down in the corner of his closet, briefly thought of  _her_ , and shut the door. He hadn’t wanted to do it in the light. It felt almost  _dirty_ , somehow. He gorged himself on food until he felt nauseous, until he felt that if he ate one more bite he would vomit all over his clothes. He had cried then, feeling like he’d gained 20 pounds while sat in darkness.

(He hadn’t even gained a pound, and Mike wasn’t sure whether to feel relieved or disgusted.)

Okay, maybe Mike thinks he’s a little ugly. But it’s okay. No one ever says it to his face, but he knows they’re all thinking it. They’re all trying to spare his feelings, but they haven’t noticed how much he already hates himself. Sometimes, he wants comfort, to be bundled in a warm pair of arms so he can cry into their chest, but he never indulges himself. He doesn’t deserve it. His problems are small and simple, so he should be able to handle it all by himself, right? They should be focusing on bigger issues, like Will’s nightmares or El’s safety. They should be having fun; it’s summer, they’re kids, they shouldn’t be worried about someone as worthless as him. He never let anyone know just  _how_  okay with the idea of death he really is, because it’s not like he’s going to stab himself so he can bleed out on his bathroom floor. (He doesn’t think about the pool of blood dripping on to the tiled floor from his wrists. It’s not important. He’s fine.) It’s just that if the opportunity’s there, he won’t say no.

He’s never been important to the party, anyways, they could do just fine without him. Everyone would gear up to protect El and Will, so there’s nothing left for him. After all, what good is a motivator when no one needs motivating? And yeah, sometimes he gets the urge to bike to the quarry and stand on the edge again, but this time, jumping off without Troy’s countdown, Dustin yelling, and James’ worried statements that had mixed in with the heavy sound of his heartbeat to make an almost deafening cacophony of sounds. He’d almost done it, too, but right as he had been standing on the edge, once more looking down at the peaceful water down below, he realized he hadn’t left a note. He didn’t want his family to go insane, trying to find his “murderer”, so he had taken one longing glance at the water, stepped back, hopped on his bike, and rode home.

Mike never told anyone that one, either. He finds himself lying to his friends more and more, and feels guilty every time they believe him.  _Friends don’t lie_ , he remembers telling El, but just this once, he pushes aside the promise. They shouldn’t worry about him. He’s not worth it.

* * *

Will thinks there’s something wrong with Mike.

Now, he knows that life had been rough, but Will can feel in his heart that what’s hurting his best friend isn’t connected to the Upside Down ( _for once_ , he can’t help but think bitterly). No, this is something else.

Will notices how Mike tends to curl into himself when sitting, usually pulling his legs up to his chest. He slouches when standing in an effort to look smaller, and he’s long since started wearing oversized sweaters year-round to hide how skinny he is. (Will can barely restrain himself from telling Mike how cute he looks with the sleeves falling over his hands. He doesn’t want to lose Mike over something as trivial as  _sweater paws_.) Mike always seems to be trying to take up as little room as possible, and Will’s not really sure  _why_ ; Mike’s never exactly commanded attention before, but now he’s started consciously shying away from it, always staying out of the limelight.

Will notices how Mike’s always messing with the hair on the nape of his neck, and Will thinks Mike should just cut it already, but he doesn’t say anything, because he likes Mike’s hair the way it is. Mike’s always trying to flatten down the curls to no avail. Will sees how his hair curls around the bottom of his ears and Will’s been mesmerized by the colour seemingly changing in the light ever since the first time he saw it (in kindergarten, he thinks). And Will  _knows_  that Mike’s hair is soft. He’s never told anyone, but Mike loves it when people card their hands through his hair. Mike had told Will once in confidence that that’s what his mom does to calm him from a nightmare. None of the others know, of course (except maybe El, because who knows what she found out when they were dating), so Will takes advantage of rubbing Mike’s head whenever no one’s looking, and he revels in the way Mike leans up into his hand.

Will loves how soft and kind Mike’s face has stayed through puberty. He still has enough chub on his cheeks that he almost looks like a very tall child instead of a teenager. His eyes were the perfect shape for the puppy-dog eyes that Will could never say no to, and the freckles that ran across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose somehow reminded Will of cookies and cream. Sometimes, Will just wants to connect the dots to see what kind of shape they’d make, but he doesn’t think Mike would appreciate having pen on his face. Mike’s skin glows ethereally when his back’s toward the light, and Will adores how smooth it is. Puberty had been kind to him, sparing him from too much acne, leaving him looking like the perfect boy who your parents would love. Of course, he still has his rebellious spouts, always ending with him sitting in the counselor’s office, arms crossed and a snarl on his face, but the girls fawning over him seem to ignore that. Or maybe they  _like_  it, maybe it adds to the appeal by showing that he’s human too, but Will’s not sure.

He thinks Mike’s beautiful, but he can tell there’s something plaguing him. He can see it in Mike’s face, the sadness flooding his soft brown eyes, his face pulled into a painful looking smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. He can see it in the way Mike flinches slightly whenever he gets a compliment, the way he either picks at his food without eating or shoves it down his throat far too quickly. He can see it when Mike freezes as soon as someone looks at him, a nervous expression on his face. It’s in the way Mike never wears short sleeves, and the way he never lets his sleeves ride up. He sees it when Mike sometimes lets his eyes linger on knives for  _far_ too long.

Will can see there’s something wrong, but he doesn’t fully understand until he walks into the school bathroom to see Mike doubled over the sink hyperventilating.

* * *

Mike had been sitting in his last period of the day, math, bored out of his mind as Mr. Wakefeld droned on about integers. His leg was bouncing – when had his leg started bouncing? His pencil fell out of his hand as he tried to figure out  _why_ his leg started bouncing in the first place, and the pencil hitting the ground shouldn’t have startled him as much as it did, but the room had been almost silent apart from the voice of the teacher. Everyone turned to look at him, and he could feel his heart jump into his throat. His eyes darted around the room before he reached down and picked up the pencil with shaking hands. He cursed himself for getting so nervous when it was just his classmates staring at him. ( _All of their attention on him, one wrong move and they’d all find a way to hate him even more than they already did_.) Then, the next moment, the class shifted back to normal, and Mike wanted to be relieved, he really did, but the lump in his throat wouldn’t leave no matter how much he willed it to, and he could feel a stinging behind his eyes. He let a few minutes pass before excusing himself to the bathroom.

He stalks down the hallway to the bathroom farthest away from any classrooms, knowing that no one bothered to go there during class time. As soon as the door shuts behind him, he has the edge of one of the sinks in a death grip, setting his gaze on his mess of a face. His cheeks are flushed, the red standing out in stark contrast to how pale the rest of his face is – paler than normal, he means. There’s tears beginning to gather in the corner of his eyes, which make it look like he’s in the middle of a panic attack (which, honestly, isn’t too far off) when combined with his dilated pupils. His bottom lip is shaking, and, for once, he follows his urge, running his hand through his hair. It doesn’t work the way he was hoping it would, the calming feeling not coming when it’s his own hand, and all it ends up doing is making his hair poof up and curl in that nauseating way.

Seeing his own loss of control happen right in front of his eyes breaks something inside Mike, and suddenly the floodgates are open. The tears in his eyes spill out over his cheeks, only to be replaced with new ones not two seconds later. His whole body was wracked with sobs, and when he let go of the sink to try to wipe his face, he doubled over, chest heaving as he desperately tried to take in enough air to please his body. A few tears snuck their way into his gaping mouth, and the salt made him gag. His lungs are constricting and he’s wheezing, trying to breathe but  _he can’t_.

He barely registers the sound of the door opening and then closing again, but the noises are distorted, and it sounds like he has a cup over his ears. He hears a familiar voice calling his name, but his thoughts are racing too quickly for him to be able to place the voice, let alone respond. The voice grows more insistent, and he claps his hands over his ears and squeezes his eyes shut, wishing they’d just  _go away_  so he could have a breakdown in peace. Either they didn’t get his silent message or they just ignored it, because then he feel hands on his shoulders, squeezing gently once, twice, and slowly lowering him to sit on the ground. Immediately after they stop moving him, he draws his legs toward his chest in a slight effort to be smaller. The hands on his shoulders are rubbing small circles into his skin, and their voice keeps talking to him even though he hasn’t tried to respond.

“Mike, could you try to let me know if you’re understanding me right now? I know you can’t talk right now, so just nod if you can, okay?” The voice is quiet and soft and muffled by his hands, and Mike’s gut is telling him he can trust them, so he does his best to sneak in a nod in between the sharp shakes of his body. “Okay, Mike, okay, thank you. Can you open your eyes?” They – he, Mike’s brain says, the voice is a boy’s, and Mike’s not sure how his brain is even functioning enough to tell him that – sound relieved and concerned at the same time. Mike shakes his head violently. He can’t help but feel like if he opens his eyes, the world’ll be spinning around him fast enough to make him vomit.

“Okay, that’s fine,” his voice reassures, “how about taking your hands off your ears? What about that?”  _Okay,_  Mike thinks, that’s something he can do. He moves his hands and they hover in the air, trembling but not knowing where to go. One hand leaves his shoulder and grabs his hand, leading it forward until it’s resting on a chest. Mike can feel his savior’s steady, albeit faster than normal, heartbeat, and he clutches onto the shirt clumsily. “Mike,” he starts, giving his hand a squeeze, “could you try breathing with me now? Just pay attention to my breaths and try to follow the rhythm.” Mike nods his head a little and listens to the sound of breathing for a few seconds, before he starts to try and breathe deeper, slower. His breath hitches as another sob shakes his frame, tears somehow not yet run dry even though it feels as if it’s been hours since he started crying. He starts to panic again involuntarily, his brain telling him that he just screwed himself royally, that he’ll never calm down at this rate, but the voice just shushes him, saying it’s alright, saying to take as much time as he needs.

It takes far longer than he hoped, but his breathing eventually reaches a more manageable level, and his lungs are thanking him. Mike finally had enough of a mind to think, and his first thought was that his eyes  _hurt_. He forces himself to open his eyes, wincing as he’s met with the bright fluorescent lights of the bathroom. His eyes adjust and he looks, though his vision’s muddled with tears, at the worried face of Will Byers.

* * *

Concern washes over Will in waves when he registers that Mike’s having a panic attack, and he’s a little afraid, because usually it’s the other way around. Will’s not sure how to deal with this, so he resolves to channel his inner Mike. He calls his name, but Mike doesn’t respond. The sight of Mike shaking, tears streaming down his face spurs Will into action, and he shuffles over to Mike, calling his name again. Mike screws his eyes shut and clamps his hands over his ears, and Will has known him long enough to understand that Mike wants to be alone. He ignores it, because he also knows that having a panic attack all alone is one of the worst things he’s ever experienced, and he’d sooner die than knowingly forcing someone into that.

He reaches out, hesitantly placing his hands on Mike’s shoulders, squeezes the way Mike’s squeezed his hands so many times, and lowers him to the ground as gently as he can. Mike curls into himself as much as possible, and all Will knows to do is to rub circles into his shoulders and keep talking. The words spill out of him, and Will’s not sure where exactly they came from, but he can see Mike nodding through his sobs, and Will pushes aside the thoughts in favour of his friend. He asks Mike to open his eyes, because his eyelids are shut so tightly that it looks  _painful_ , but Mike shakes his head, his hair bouncing slightly.

Will knows better than to force him to open them, so he moves on to his hands, which are still over his ears. Will’s got a semblance of an idea, so he really hopes Mike’ll cooperate. Luckily, Mike takes his hands off his ears and he leaves them hovering in front of him, so Will grabs one of his hands and brings it to his chest. Feeling a heartbeat always helps him when he’s freaking out, and he knows Mike feels the same way when he feels fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. He asks Mike to breathe with him, ‘cause if he keeps heading down the path he’s currently on, he’ll end up passing out. He gets a nod in return, and 10 seconds later Mike’s trying to breathe deeper. His rhythm is interrupted by a sob, and he can see Mike’s panic clear as day.

“Hey, Mike, it’s okay, it’s alright. No need to rush, you’re doing fine, take as long as you need,” he tells him softly, squeezing Mike’s hand. It feels like he’s waiting forever, but eventually Mike’s breathing reaches a somewhat acceptable level, and suddenly Mike’s opening his eyes only to make a face at the light. A few seconds pass in silence, and then Mike’s opening his eyes again, and his eyes stay open this time. His eyes are filling up with tears as he looks straight at Will’s face, and Will watches as his face scrunches up. Mike lets out a sob that Will thinks is an attempt at his name, and Will hears the plea behind that one semi-word. “C’mon, Mikey,” he holds his arms open, “c’mere.” The air in his lungs escapes him as Mike practically tackles him in a hug, and before he can blink, there’s a face buried in his shoulder. There are tears staining his shirt, but he just wraps his arms around Mike.

It seems like they’re sitting on the bathroom floor for hours, and at one point Will leans his head on Mike’s and his hand moves to sift through Mike’s hair in the way he knows Mike likes best. He can feel Mike’s whole body relax against him, and the arms clinging to him somehow manage to tighten. And then, finally, Mike’s tears run dry and he lifts his head from Will’s shoulder. He inhales and holds it, his breath shaking when he breathes out. Mike sits up fully, but he doesn’t move his arms from where they’re locked around Will. Mike’s face is blotchy and tear-streaked, and he still looks sad, but Will finds him beautiful nonetheless. Mike gives him a grateful smile, and his voice is scratchy and hoarse when he says  _thank you_. His hair’s all messed up, so Will reaches out and brushes it back into place with his fingers. When he tucks a piece of hair behind Mike’s ear on an impulse, Mike looks up at him through long eyelashes and the whole thing feels extremely intimate (which, Will supposes, it actually is), and Will can only hope his face isn’t bright red by now.

Will gets the urge to kiss him then, and for once, his mind isn’t telling him not to. He dares to lean in, staring into Mike’s eyes, and his heart starts pounding faster when Mike’s eyes flick down to his lips for a moment. And in that moment, Will’s keenly aware of his hand holding Mike’s cheek, of Mike biting his lip and his arms still holding Will in a loose hug. Mike flutters his eyes closed and tilts his head just the slightest bit when their lips are about an inch apart, and Will can feel Mike’s breath on his face, and he  _cannot believe he’s actually about to kiss him_. Will takes a deep breath and closes the gap between them, pausing for a moment, unsure, but he can feel the ghost of Mike’s lips on his, and he knows that if he doesn’t suck it up now, he’ll never end up doing it.

He shuts his eyes and presses his lips to Mike’s gently, and  _god_ , it feels so right. Having Mike’s slightly chapped lips against his own feels like he’s finally coming home, and it certainly helps that  _Mike’s kissing back_. This is the kind of thing that would only ever happen in his dreams, and he gets the fleeting thought that he should pinch himself, just to see if he’s actually asleep; instead, he just kisses Mike a little harder, wanting this moment to last forever, dream or not. He pulls back just a bit, but he’s close enough that he can count the freckles on Mike’s cheeks, and the smile that breaks out on his face is a sight to behold. Will’s smiling back now, and he’s just about to ask if that was okay when-

_BRRRING!_

The school bell yells out, and then Will’s detaching himself from Mike hastily, knowing that soon enough the room will be filled with other students. He stands up on numb legs and holds out a hand to pull Mike up, who accepts the offer with much more grace than should be possible. Mike’s wiping his face with his hands when Will asks him to come over to his house. Mike nods and offers him one last smile (that, Will notes, looks strained compared to the one he gave just a minute ago) before rushing off to explain to his teacher and grab his bag.

* * *

Will waits outside the school for Mike, ignoring the confused look that his brother sends him from inside the car. When Mike finally walks out, he doesn’t look any better – in fact, he almost looks  _worse_  than how Will had left him. Usually Mike could brush off any scolding with a scoff and rolling his eyes, but Will supposes he’s just too exhausted and vulnerable to even put up a front. He trudges over to where Will’s standing, and he croaks out “should I bike there or should I put it in the back?”

Will shrugs. “Let me ask,” he calls over his shoulder, already walking to the car. He taps on the window and Jonathan rolls it down compliantly. “Hey, um, Mike’s coming over and I  _really_  don’t think he should be alone right now, so could he, maybe, ride home with us and put his bike in the trunk?” Will says all in one breath, and Jonathan’s craning his neck to get a good look at Mike. Something about Mike must pull at his heartstrings, because Jonathan’s face shifts into muted concern.

“Tell Mike to get his bike over here, I’ll try to make some room in the trunk,” He says, getting out of the car. Will gives him a thankful smile and runs over to Mike. Somehow, they do fit the bike in the trunk (though it’s definitely a tight squeeze) and Mike and Will slide into the backseat, Will abandoning the front seat in favour of holding Mike’s hand. If Jonathan notices, he doesn’t say anything, which Will is extremely grateful for. There’s only so much he can handle in one day.

They ride in silence until Jonathan turns on some music, and when  _Should I Stay or Should I Go_  comes on, Mike sniffles, loud and wet. Will moves his other hand onto Mike’s as well, doing his best to engulf Mike’s hand with his smaller ones. The drive passes by with little else happening, much to Will’s relief, and they arrive at the Byers house safe and sound. The boys scramble into the house behind Jonathan, and head down to Will’s room almost immediately. Will sits down gingerly on his bed and tugs Mike down to sit with him by their still intertwined hands.

“Mikey,” Will broke the almost suffocating silence that sat between them, “why were you having a panic attack?”

Mike looked nervous. “I-it wasn’t a  _panic attack_ , per say, it w-was more of an emotional breakdown…” He trailed off when he saw the look on Will’s face – he wasn’t in the mood for Mike’s stalling. “Okay, okay, I just- I just really like to be in control of everything I do and say, and- and the way I can’t control so many things about the way I look is just so  _frustrating_. I wish I could change what I look like, I know I’m so  _goddamn ugly_  but I can’t change that. I hate my hair, I hate the colour of it, and I know that my parents would never let me dye it. I hate that it changes from curly to straight to a disgusting combination. I hate that no one else in my family has the same colour, the same inconsistent hair that I have. I hate my freckles, I hate that they stand out so much against my skin; I hate my skin and the way it stands out so much against my hair.

“I hate my face; my eyes aren’t warm or bright, they’re just dull and boring to look at, and I can never keep my emotions off my face the way everyone else can and I just, I just hate that. And I’m too tall, I hate being taller than most everyone because I always get scared of people taller than me and I don’t w-want to scare anyone. I’m so skinny, too, and I never gain any weight no matter how much I eat, and I feel like I don’t belong in my own skin. Everyone was looking at me, Will, they were all staring and it felt like they were seeing everything I hate about myself, so I had to leave, I just had to. And then, when I looked at myself in the mirror, I saw a mess, I was just a  _mess_. I tried to look calm, but it just wasn’t  _working_ , and I ran my hand through my hair to see if that would help but it didn’t, it just made my curls come out and I just- I  _lost it_ , Will. I broke down.”

Will had been staring, an increasingly concerned expression on his face, throughout Mike’s rambling. Mike started crying halfway through, stumbling over some words and voice cracking in the middle of others, and all Will can think to do is squeeze his hand and try to say something in response.

“Mike, I don’t know why you see yourself as ugly when you’re one of the most beautiful people I’ve ever met.” The words slipped out before Will could think them through, and now it’s Mike’s turn to stare. He managed a small noise of confusion before Will surged onward. “You’re so pretty, Mike. It makes me feel gross when you talk bad about yourself, because you can’t seem to see what I see when I look at you. And you wanna know what I see?” Mike’s mouth is agape as he slowly nods.

Will smiles. “Well, I see one of the nicest boys I’ve ever met with a body that really reflects who he is. He’s tall and skinny, quick and nimble while he stands over the rest of us like a protector. His hair is soft and it’s always changing depending on the light, and I  _adore_ that. It’s one of the prettiest things I’ve ever seen. And his cheeks are smooth and squishy, and I love the freckles on his nose. Sometimes I want to kiss every last one of them, but I never have, I’ve always been too scared. I love the way his skin glows – it reminds me of an angel. He doesn’t get much acne, and he’s the kind of guy you’d introduce to your parents without worrying once about it. I see someone who loves soft sweaters and helping other people out – someone who lets the emotion show on his face in the  _best_  way, so you always know he’s telling the truth. I see someone you can trust.”

Mike’s face is shifting through several different emotions, but the most prominent are shock, confusion, and happiness, as far as Will can tell. And then he notices that Mike’s started scratching at his sleeve at some point. “I see someone who never wears short sleeves,” he adds quietly, and Mike’s arm jerks away from where it’s scratching. The only thing Will can see on Mike’s face is fear. He flips Mike’s arm so it’s facing towards him, and he tries to ignore Mike’s shaking as he gently pulls up the sleeve. The scars are horrifying to him, and Will almost wants to throw up, but he just swallows through the lump in his throat and keeps looking. Some are white and faded, some are a light red, and some are an angry bright red. He lightly traces a few of the scars with his thumb and chances looking up at Mike.

The expression on Mike’s face is almost more heartbreaking than the scars themselves; his bottom lip is trembling, his brow is furrowed, and his eyes are shining with unshed tears. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, “please don’t hate me.”

Will shakes his head slowly, murmuring “I could never,  _ever_  hate you.” He looks back at Mike’s arm, “I’m just… sad that you didn’t feel like you could tell me.”

“No, no, it’s not you! It’s just that I feel like my problems are so small compared to everything else, I feel like I should be able to handle it by myself.”

Will can feel his face twisting up, “Mike, this isn’t small at all, but even if it were, you would still be able to tell us. I’m-  _we’re_ your friends, we’re here to help with  _anything_  at all, no matter how small. You know that, right?” Mike just nodded, eyes pleading for Will to pull the sleeve back down. “Just, please know you can always talk to me about anything. I’ve known you for, what, 8 years now? I’d be crushed if anything happened to you. I don’t think I’d be able to handle it. Please, try to stop.  _Please_ , I know it’ll take time but just…” Will trails off, tears welling in his eyes at the thought of life without Mike by his side.

* * *

Mike is overwhelmed. First, he gets comforted (and  _kissed_ , his brain cheers) by Will Byers, the boy he’s been repressing feelings for since 5th grade. Then he gets yelled at by Mr. Wakefeld until he turns to face him, and he must look worse than he usually does, since the teacher immediately trails off, only adding a quick “Are you doing alright, Michael?” Mike nods and grabs the stuff he left at his seat and walks out of the room as quickly as he’d entered. Then, he’s spilling everything he’s been keeping to himself to his best friend, and his best friend tells him he’s beautiful (one of the best things he’s heard in his life). Will’s pulling up his sleeve but for  _some reason_  he can’t seem to make his arm move away, so Will sees the ugly scars on his arm, but he says he  _doesn’t_ hate him. Will’s thinking about Mike dying and he’s crying and  _oh god he’s crying it’s my fault oh god_ -

Get a grip, Wheeler. You’re not the one crying just because you imagined your best friend killing himself ( _oh god_ ), suck it up.

Mike wants to tell Will that he’s never thought about it, that he’s never tried it, but Will literally  _just_  got done telling him he can talk about anything. It would feel so wrong to not tell Will. So Mike quietly tells Will about when he went to the quarry and stood on the edge. He tells Will that he had felt excited, that his lips were curled into a smile as he imagined his last moments being full of exhilaration. He tells Will that the only reason he hadn’t gone through with it was because he hadn’t written a note. Tears are streaming down Will’s face and Mike feels worse, but he tells himself that it’s for the best.

And then Will’s suddenly grabbing his head and turning him so they’re face to face, and Will somehow manages to look stern even while crying. “Mike, if you  _ever_  feel like that again, please,  _please_ , just call, or radio, or sneak over here. I don’t care if it’s three in the morning, I  _will_  be there for you.” Mike’s not sure how to respond – he  _really_  doesn’t want to burden Will, Will who has been through far more than any 14 year old should ever have to go through, but he knows Will won’t let him say no – so he mutters out a quick ‘okay’. Apparently, Will can see right through him, because he just says, “Mike…” in that disappointed tone that Mike always caves to.

Just like always, Mike crumbles. “I just don’t think you should be worrying yourself so much over someone so  _worthless_ ,” he practically spits out the word. “I know I’m not important, okay? I’m just the so-called leader of the party, but what good is a goddamn leader when he’s even more lost than everyone else? And, yeah, sure, I gathered the party together when things went wrong, but no one ever needs motivation anymore. I should be the one who’s there for  _you_ , but I can’t even do that right! All I ever do is mess up everything good in my life!” He’s almost yelling now, and he distantly hopes that Jonathan knows better than to come in. Spilling his entire bag of secrets is bad enough, and he  _really_ doesn’t want to do it in front of someone he knows next to nothing about.

Suddenly, Will’s hands are grabbing at Mike’s shoulders just like earlier, but this time they’re rough, squeezing  _hard_ , and Will’s shaking Mike just the slightest bit. “Mike, why don’t you ever believe me? I’ve told you so many times that you’re my best friend, that I wouldn’t be who I am today without you, and it’s all true but you just can’tseem to  _understand_ that. I want you to take what I’m about to say as fact.

“Michael Wheeler, you are one of the most important people in my life. You’re not  _just_  a leader or  _just_  a motivator – you’re so much more than that. You took action when I went missing, and yeah, you led the others, but I’m pretty sure you would’ve went with or without them, right? You were the one who hid El, you kept her safe when everyone else was against her. Without you, the gate wouldn’t be closed, and El wouldn’t be safe living with Hopper, she’d probably be stuck back in the lab because no matter how awesome she is, she couldn’t hide forever on her own. Without you, I wouldn’t have any friends at all. Remember when you told me that asking me to be your friend was the best thing you’ve ever done?” Will stops, and it takes Mike a moment to realize that he actually wants an answer. After Mike’s quick nod in response, Will says something that hits Mike like a train.

“I think telling you yes was the best thing  _I’ve_ ever done.”

Mike’s world stops for a moment.  _He_  was the best thing that’s ever happened to someone? He was the best thing that’s ever happened to  _Will_? Mike feels like he’s going to explode from the hurricane of emotions he’s being forced through today. He reaches over and practically smashes his lips into Will’s. The kiss is much softer and sweeter than Mike’s hasty start to it warrants, but he’s not complaining. He doesn’t even complain about the slightly salty taste both of their lips have from all the crying the two have done that day. Mike’s just floored that he’s  _kissing Will Byers_  for a second time! The boy he thinks is perfect loves him back! And he forgets the rough recovery he’s going to have to go through, he doesn’t think about the times he’s going to fall back into old habits or the trouble he’s going to have trying to be nice to himself, because for the first time in a long time, he is completely and utterly distracted from his thoughts.

Mike’s kissing the most beautiful boy in the world, who thinks  _he’s_ beautiful, and they’ll figure it out when they get there.

**Author's Note:**

> haha,, hey,, hello there  
> this is my first stranger things fic so i'm sorry if they seem ooc!! this was kind of a vent fic for me so  
> i felt like there wasn't a lot of mike angst that didn't revolve around eleven?? i guess? so i wanted to fix that. i also really needed some byler in my life  
> ngl this is probably the longest thing ive ever written which is kind of sad  
> hmu on my [writing blog](http://william-bylers.tumblr.com) about stranger things!! yell heah!!


End file.
